Peeta's POV in Important Scenes
by Vintage Vine
Summary: Just a few *major* scenes in Peeta's point of view.


**Disclaimer: All rights go to Suzanne Collins and Scholastic Press. I make no profit from this.**

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Katniss pulls a twelve. I do, too, magically. I don't understand how an accusation for one's murder is any honorary thing. It boggles my mind, those pesky Capitols.

"Why did they do that?"

"So the others will have no choice but to target you, Haymitch replies in a deadpan voice. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either of you." Haymitch's comment is hostile, even for him.

I walk Katniss down the hall and to her room. I don't want to leave her, knowing very well I may have to come and make her nightmares go away.

I begin to say goodnight to her, but she only wraps her arms tightly around me. Her head rests against my chest as I pull her in as well. I dip my face into the brown locks of her soft smelling hair. "I'm sorry if I made things worse," she whispers.

I don't see how our situation could ever become more worse than it already is. But, of course, I am wrong.

"No worse than I did. Why did you do it anyway?"

"I don't know. To show them I'm more than just a piece in their Games?"

I remember. The memory makes me laugh. And _she_ remembers. I said that to her the night before the Games last year. Remarkable how she kept the memory of me. I wonder if there's more…

"Me, too." I choose my next words carefully. "And I'm not saying I'm not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I'm perfectly honest about it…"

Recognition crosses her face and she's speaking my thoughts. "If you're perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway."

"It's crossed my mind."

Silence settles between us. Haymitch or Effie may find us still lingering in the hall. We should hurry.

"But even if that happens, everyone will know we've gone out fighting, right?" From what Katniss has informed me of, some of the districts are rebelling as we speak, and it's possible that any more we make- whether it be out of 'love' or insanity- they will see it as another stroke to the flame. They will know.

"Everyone will," she reassures me. And her voice immediately assures me.

I look at her, wondering what her plan is, what are next strategy is. I'm sure we'll come up with something better than allies neither of us wants.

"So what should we do with our last few days?"

I smile, but it quickly fades. "I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."

My answer seems to please her. And her reaction sends ripples of joy down my spine.

"Come on, then. She grabs my hand and pulls me into her room. I make no effort to resist her sweet allowance of my presence now.

There is no audience right now, and yet she seems to be genuinely in 'love' with me.

Her actions and words now are making me almost laugh with giddy. Almost as happy as the day she jumped into my arms and we fell into the snow. I was happy then, but I knew we each acted a little for the camera's sake.

But mostly, almost every move, word, smile I make, is for my sake. She will probably never know the difference. Perhaps she hasn't even realized yet how true my words last year about my unyielding love for her were. Nonetheless, I'll try and prove that to her in the arena, while we're fighting for our lives, saving each other's lives, reminiscing our school days with the second glances and not-so-accidental hand brushes in the halls.

I will miss this; curling up around her slender form, keeping the nightmares away. Somehow, each victor must come back with a token from their Games. It is always the same: the fear of reliving your Games in your very dreams. That must be why Haymitch never sleep with the light off…

Sadly, my presence isn't really needed; nightmares never arouse her from her peaceful slumber.

Katniss simply sleeps, hopefully dreaming of Prim and her mother.

I don't sleep, for fear of dreaming of something else entirely. Another reaping, clearly occurring years from now, where children younger than the designated age are being called forth. I've had this scary dream before; where a blonde hair, grey-eyed child will be reaped into the pool of tributes. And another child, one with silky, brown hair, and blue eyes. I fear for my future children, if I ever have any.

I shouldn't be thinking of such things; I know I won't live to even dream of it. Katniss will someday marry…Gale…and have kids who'll look like him. I shudder at the thought. Suppose-miraculously- that Katniss and I live in a Capital-free Panem, and we somehow created our own little children. Children who could look like me… I quickly banish such thinking. I shouldn't hurt myself like this.

After stressing over more irrelevant battle strategies, sleep somehow manages to lull my eyes shut. I do not dream, nor does the beautiful Victor beside me. I sleep much like I would if I was curled in Katniss's arms in Victor's village.

I wake up before Katniss. I lay next to her, drinking in her content form that could only be beautifully brought by the Seam. I suppose it's the trademark grey eyes. Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows as she stirs.

"No nightmares," I whisper as her eyes flutter open to take in the morning scene.

"No nightmares. You?"

"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like."

Neither of us say more; there is no need. We simply lie in her bed, thinking of different things. While my mind is set with keeping my 'fiancé' alive, Katniss is probably thinking of the hardships back home, in District 12. I hope Thread isn't making things hard for our small community. With District Twelve's luck, he most definitely is making their lives a living inferno.

The Avox Katniss has presumably met before, startles us with a quick knock on the door and a note from Haymitch and Effie. We have been excused from our 'crowd-pleasing' lessons for the upcoming televised interview.

"Really? Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves."

We delight in their cancellation, hoping we may have a private last-day to spend with one another.

Her surprise is quickly contorted into that of longing. "It's too bad we can't go somewhere."

"Who says we can't?" My thoughts immediately turn to the roof and its greenery, its sky full of infinity.

I request some food that should last the whole day; I plan on spending every second with her relishing her very presence. Not a moment shall be wasted. I also snatch a few pieces of paper and writing utensils to take with us.

Mostly, we're bathed in sunlight that will probably burn a little later. We engage in a childish game where one throws an apple into the force field and the other must catch its inevitable bounce back.

After exhaustion of the game that rattles all of our limbs senseless, I sit with Katniss lying on my lap, sketching her luxurious face onto paper.

Later, I play with her hair, trying to remember its soft sensation, and she begins to fiddle with a crown of flowers. To anyone else's eyes, it could be just a ring of tulips threaded together at an attempt of beauty. To me, it holds that beauty, but not in comparison to the girl creating such a beauty. I think of my dreams all over again, and sigh.

I stop, my hands going limp by her cheeks.

My halting action confuses her. "What?"

I voice exactly what I'm feeling. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."

"Okay."

I smile, "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it."

I go back to playing with her hair, thinking of how wonderfully silky her children's hair would be one day.

Sometime later, Katniss falls asleep under my touch. Sunsets are exquisite sights, and letting Katniss miss it is almost a capital offense- no pun intended.

I wake her by slightly kissing her forehead. I pull back before she realizes exactly how I woke her. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it."

"Thanks." Something sparkles in her grey eyes, and she begins to count on her fingers. I know exactly why.

We aren't bothered at all. I say a silent prayer in gratitude to Haymitch and Effie. How could they have managed the perfect day without contributing anything but their absence? "I'm glad. I'm tired of making everyone around me so miserable. Everybody crying." I stare at the orange sky; thinking of the beautiful Victor nestled beside me, under my arm.

"Or Haymitch," I add, remembering the fact that he'll be watching most of his friends being slaughtered mercilessly in a fight-to-the-death, special-crafted arena. I almost feel sorry for him.

Nothing disturbs us until night has fallen and we creep down to her room. I spot the Avox sitting ramrod straight in the living room, not once glancing our way. Katniss does not notice, and I shuffle her along in case her eyes wander.

She sleeps peacefully once again, hopefully in part to our stressless day of lounging and relaxing.

Octavia, Flavius and Venia quietly wake us and order me out. Oddly, when I make eye contact with Octavia, she erupts into a torrent of tears and is scolded by Venia, who's obviously the mature one of the team. "You remember what Cinna told us," her voice ordering the woman away. Octavia obliges; nodding her head in agreement. She leaves the room with tears still running down her artificial face.

I'm told to acknowledge my own prep team—something I'm not looking forward to at all. Being tugged and pulled by the brushes of makeup isn't really a favorite hobby of mine. Obviously, that must be the hobby for every Capitol citizen here.

They place me in a traditional, Capitol tailored tux—not the traditional District 12 suits (or regular clothes) we prefer in reference to our borough. Coarse, white gloves are pulled onto my hands, fitting just right.

I don't know why I'm dressed in such an atrocity, but I have a pretty good guess. And it's not long before Portia tells me the secret: Katniss has been requested by President Snow himself to wear the wedding dress voted by the Capitol citizens. If Katniss hasn't already figured it out, Snow's motives are just as hostile and disastrous as always; sending metaphorical messages to the Districts who are 'rebelling' in defiance.

I understand our bride and groom façade, but is it not too much? If not for Panem and all who is watching, but for Katniss? For…me? Of course, Katniss and I are the last on his list of trembling worries—why should the most powerful man known to Panem have to worry about to adolescents madly in love? Simple. We two adolescents are the spark to the flames. We are what started the rebellion. And we must represent Snow's symbolic warning. After all, we are in his territory.

Portia ushers me out to meet with Haymitch. I avoid his murderous gaze; he's still put out with his Victors.

Effie tries to make small-talk, but it's quickly hushed as we hear footsteps approaching. I brace myself; I've never seen Katniss's wedding dresses. Perhaps I never wanted to know, not since the announcement of the Quarter Quell reaping and all. I knew it would hurt me to no limit to see her elegance laced in one of those frilly, luxurious gowns. My heart would break in a million tiny bits not even a Recreation artist could fix.

Katniss and Cinna walk toward us at a leisurely pace. I can see Katniss is carrying a hard burden. I hope the dress isn't too uncomfortable for her slim shoulders.

Offstage, we walk amongst the other victors, listening intently to their utter silence. It is Finnick who breaks the unbearable silence I was just about to. "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing," he says, quietly.

I am willing to defend Katniss and Cinna, when she herself beats me to it. "He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him."

"Well, you look ridiculous!" spits Cashmere, whose blue eyes stare viscously at my fiancé's dress. Is there a look of longing there, too?

One by one they each present themselves onstage, in front of millions. Many of them make utter fools of themselves; others question the authority of the Gamemakers and Snow himself. It's not long before I do, too.

Katniss is called; she's asked questions pertaining to the situation at hand here: our unyielding love for one another as we keep fighting for each other.

She quickly ends her interview by driving the audience's attention to her dress. "Isn't it just…the most beautiful thing?" I ignore that. The most beautiful thing is the lovely creature wearing _her_ interpretation of 'the most beautiful thing'.

She stands, twirls much like she had last year, and raises her arms above her head.

The crowd screams. She has not yet noticed her dress' change.

Smoke tendrils coil around her, and she's thrown into a mental state of panic. I almost defy all rules against two tributes on stage together. I want to go to her and extinguish all flames. But I know whatever Cinna has created…it won't by any means, hurt my beloved.

Moments after realizing what I have, Katniss continues to spin. She truly is the most beautiful thing.

The fire around her suddenly disappears, and Katniss halts to a stop as well. Her dress…it's the same as her wedding dress. Except for the fact that it resembles the coal dust always found on a District Twelve miner's suit. Feathers sprout from everywhere, impersonating the tiny white pearls that once were idle.

She once again lifts her hands above her head, staring directly at the big screen. Her sleeves- wings- are patched in white, looking amazingly like that of a bird's. But not any bird.

Katniss is a designed as her token.

She is a mockingjay.

Caesar Flickerman allows Cinna a bow. Then, Katniss is ushered of the stage, and it is my time for the interview.

I situate myself beside Caesar, imagining I'm not in front of hundreds, being watched by thousands on a T.V.

I am thinking of Katniss when I hear Caesar begin the live interview. He starts with some meaningless jokes, teasing me about the Capitol's floral shampoo. I smile and laugh along with him, yearning for the moment I can see Katniss again. He mentions her feathery, one-of-a-kind dress, something that makes me want to see her even more.

Then, as if on cue, Caesar becomes serious. "So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quarter Quell?"

"I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful on all these wedding gowns, and the next…" I let it go, knowing I've given my answer.

"You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" Caesar asks, trying to sound as gentle as possible. I guess my words are becoming more persuasive than intended. But I can't stop now.

His words. They are like an icicle being plunged into my heart and twisted mercilessly. I was really looking forward to the 'Snow pleasing wedding', even though it wouldn't be real. Especially to Katniss.

I don't answer for a long moment. I have a new tactic. Something _spur-of-the-moment_ golden.

The audience-it's not scary, nor does it give me stage fright. I look to the floor, waiting for the right words to come forth. Then, as if by sheer luck, my silence is disturbed by just the perfect words for our next tactic.

"Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?" I hate using the inappropriate word 'friend' to name the snobs that make up the Capital's audience. The only 'friends' I'm referring to are the ones watching back in District 12. And just to add to my distaste, that very snobby audience laughs uneasily.

Caeser smiles. "I feel quite certain of it."

"We're already married." The crowd reacts just as I suspected. Just like last year, when I first devised my truthful tactics of the star-crossed lovers. I can only imagine what Katniss is thinking right now. Will she react the same as last year? Will my hands be severed by urn shards again?

Caeser- I will always remember his face just as it is now: pure confusion and utter surprise. "But...How can that be?"

"Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts. But there's this thing we do." I go into full detail of our district's primitive matrimonial ceremonies. Caeser and the crowd become hypnotized in my words, listening intently as I describe the bread toasting.

"Were your families there?" Caeser asks.

This one lie is becoming easier and easier. As Caesar and the audience are eating up my story, they're only feeding me more fuel.

"No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch." Let Haymitch swallow _that _one. "And Katniss's mother would never have approved." It's not completely true; _my_ mother would not have allowed it, what with Katniss being from the Seam and all. "But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it."

In truth, I'm having much more fun with this than intended. And, truth be known, I now have the perfect bombshell to deliver. And I know I'll have to shed the tears I know will have the audience in a coma forever.

Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed by the certainty of my next words. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us." I'm not sure what Katniss thinks of this, but what I say is only a small portion of how I really do feel of us.

Caesar's voice interrupts my thoughts. "So this was before the Quell?"

What a ridiculous question, one I've already answered. "Of course before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew." This statement saddens me. I never thought we'd be married in any circumstance. Yes, there were daydreams pertaining to such wonders, but I'd never given it much thought.

"But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere- I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?"

Trying to comfort, although making no progress, Caesar places his arm around me. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

The audience. Momentarily, I've forgotten I was being watched. The applause restricts me to the confines of my speech. The confession is coming soon. I just need to find the right moment to say it loud and clearly.

Katniss's face is on the big screen, smiling sheepishly, beautifully- tragically. Are those tears?

Then, I attempt to hide the bitterness in my voice, but to no avail. "I'm not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially." No, if the case were real, I'd have loved nothing more than to marry traditionally according to District 12's customary matrimonial ceremony.

Caeser seems even more surprised- is that possible? "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

I have found the perfect outlet for my world-shaking bombshell.

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caeser," I say, too cynically for my taste. "If it weren't for the baby."

I hope Katniss has the heart to speak to me again. Surely, she won't hate me forever.

The audience loves it. Or rather, hates the fact that both Katniss and I will be thrown into another arena certain of our inevitable deaths. Not only the two of us, but our 'baby' as well. The audience shouts various obscenities; barbaric acts of cruelty, they're 'thirsty for blood'.

I ignore the buzzer. I guess the crowd does too, for Caeser is having a tough time trying to rein their attention back.

Somehow, I make it to a numb Katniss, and help her to an elevator. Hopefully, I can try and pry something coherent out of her.

I see Finnick and Johanna attempt to ride with us, no doubt wanting to know all of the unidentified juicy details of our baby. Two Peacekeepers block their way and push them aside as Katniss and I ascend.

I wait for the moment the elevator stops on our floor. I suppose that shy-schoolboy feeling is still keeping me yet. I turn to her and grip her shoulders. Trying to be gentle, yet stern.

"There isn't much time, so tell me. Is there anything I need to apologize for?"

"Nothing."

Relief washes through me, diminishing any doubts I'd previously had about her trust.

What I wouldn't give to hear her probably incoherent thoughts right now.

We make our way to her room, where I attempt to say goodnight, but Katniss has other plans. She pulls me in with her and offers her own shower in case I refuse and go.

We curl up in her bed and drift off to sleep. I dream of primroses and different colored roots.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the` Avox raps on our door, waking me but avoiding Katniss' ears. She sleeps soundly during my shuffling to get the door.

The Avox ducks her head when I answer, and I think I see a shiny glint trail down her pale face.

Her fingers fumble with a pink ribbon with blue dots on it. Confused, I speak quietly, so as not to startle her or bring attention to her- I wouldn't want punishment inflicted on her innocent person. "Is there something wrong? Is it Haymitch or Effie?"

She numbly shakes her head, a forlorn look washing out her delicate features. She takes my hand gingerly, placing the soft ribbon in my hands. I rub it between my fingers, even more confused.

Noticing my dilemma, the Avox smiles slightly and sweeps her hands over her covered abdomen, cradling it like a pregnant woman would. I only stare, shocked. She then makes a heart motion with her fingers over her real heart and her smile grows wider.

Finally getting the message, I smile. Sadness creeps flushes my face and I nod my head. "Thank you." Looking down at the baby ribbon, I feel the tears swelling. "Goodnight…"

She nods, pats my hand, and turns to leave.

I numbly close the door and walk back to Katniss, who still sleeps curled on her side, shivering.

I slide back under the blankets beside her, shocked that she immediately stops trembling with cold. Am I really as warm as she claims? My arms wrap instinctively around her small form once more, having memorized the simple movements from many nights like this on the train.

Our stylists arrive in the morning, waking Katniss from her slumber. I lean down and gently kiss her, not acknowledging the Cinna and Portia's stares. "See you soon," I whisper. Oh, how I wish tributes were allowed to go into the arena together.

"See you soon," she replies.

I walk out, leaving her and our 'baby' until the Games begin.

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**Author's Note:**

I take absolutely take no credit for the quotes and actions placed here. All rights go to Suzanne Collins and Scholastic Press.

I wrote these few scenes to help myself better understand what Peeta may have been thinking as he delivered all of the astonishing, earth-shaking news presented here.

I hope you readers liked it...?


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